


The Godfather

by focksakes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Homelessness, Idiots in Love, Italian Mafia, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Love/Hate, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Russian Mafia, Safe Sane and Consensual, Tortured main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-31 00:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/focksakes/pseuds/focksakes
Summary: When Salem’s careless, destructive actions come to bite him in the ass: He’s at an ultimatum with a powerful, handsome, ruthless Mafia boss.





	1. Prologue

“I’ve taken over from my father in running the five families in New York. The commission, we call it actually,” He approaches him again, getting closer with each word and making Salem’s blood run a little colder the more proximity was broken, and he swallows harshly when Adrian’s hands slam on the empty sides of the metal chair as if to trap him him even more when he’s finally close enough to lowly mumble.

_“And you’re the little arson that’s burnt down three of my buildings.”_


	2. Chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Faccenna told us not to lay a hand on him!” 
> 
> “He’s talking too much anyway.”

Salem swore he’d been here for hours. It felt like days but the sane part of his head spoke to him tenderly as if to guide himself through the explicit mess of various interrogation methods he was subjected to. He knew he wasn’t in a fucking police station, because he was taken right off the street: arms pulled back and a cloth slammed over his mouth and nose, restricting his air until the only thing he could breathe in was the chemical fumes laced on the rag to begin with.

And then he woke up here. Well, he didn’t really know where here was. Here was a black, covered nothing, and when he tried to move his eyes he figured he had a blindfold over his eyes, and when he tried to twist and turn his wrists behind his back: he figured that plastic sting was a zip tie.

It took a couple times of screaming, yelling and cursing loud obscenities until he heard a door creak open loudly and quickly, and with a groan he was hoisted up by his elbows by.. what felt like two separate pair of hands. “Get your dirty fuckin’ hands off me!” Salem yelled, and his skin heated with confusion and anger when he heard a few snickers exchanged: okay, two people in the room.. dragging him somewhere. “What the fuck is this? Get off me!” He yells even louder when his body briefly hits a cold spring of air, metallic and freezing: and then he feels himself being seated forcefully on a chair, and he hardly gestures what happens next, it’s too fast to tell.

His hands are tugged harshly behind him, and he feels a pair of metal cuffs slammed over them ONTOP of the zip ties. Well, you can never be so sure. Salem finds himself laughing to himself, head leaning back as he tries to shake off the blindfold that’s held so tightly over his eyes. A gruff voice and a hand to match grabs his chin, “What’s so fucking funny?”

“I’m just thinking about how you’re both fucking morons, maybe I like th-,” Knuckles immediately makes contact with the side of his cheek, and his head flies to the side. The punch stuns him, and he hardly can catch his breath before until the other wandering voice in the room protest.

“Faccenna told us not to lay a hand on him!”

“He’s talking too much anyway.”

Salem doesn’t have time to ask questions, and neither does his eyes have time to adjust to the blue lightening in the very vault looking room he’s tied up in, because the material of the blindfold is then being forced into his mouth. A figure he hasn’t had time to see just yet moves behind him, tying the loose black material between his lips and letting him bite into it as a string of muffled protests yells into the air.

The two men move in front of him, and finally he gets to see the two morons who.. on top of an obvious authority figure: have fucking taken him hostage.

“Non ha più di 21 anni.” (He can’t be older than 21)

“Destra? Più diciotto.” (Right? More like eighteen.)

“Topo di strada?” (Street rat?)

“Era lì quando lo stavamo cercando. Difficile da trovare, questa piccola fica.” (That’s where he was when we found him. Hard to find, this little cunt.)

Salem’s brows creases, his eyes darting from between them as the fear slowly starts settling his chest very, completely, torturingly slowly. But he hardly lets that show, swearing at them behind the gag and kicking his legs out to.. make some kind of point.

“Cavoli, è esuberante.” (Boy, he’s feisty!)

The two men look much different than one another. One tan, one fair. However, they both wear the same kind of clothes: dress pants and shirts that are tucked in. They look like they’ve just been in a fight though, their collars are stained with blood, and a scary shade of red lines their clothing: it makes Salem’s blood run cold. He has no clue what he’s gotten himself into.

At one last attempt, he kicks his legs out: and then he feels the legs of the chair wiggle from side to side: and he lets out a whine when the chair topples to the side, and the side of his head hits the floor harshly. “Jesus christ he’s stupid,” The tan one makes a move to help him back up, but is stopped immediately by the fair ones hand falling on his shoulder.

“Dovemmo partire subito dopo averlo legato, vieni Lucio.” (We had to leave immediately after tying him up, Come on Lucio.)

Salem screeched behind the wad of cloth, squirming in the chair and shaking his hands on the back of the chair to create one hell of a clanging noise: trying to stop them from leaving and just fucking help him get back up.

“Don’t worry, kid. The boss’ll be here any minute.”

* * *

 

A minute turned into five. And five turned into thirty. He’d been laying on his side for thirty fucking minutes. No clues to where he is besides for some fluently spoken italian and the knowledge that someone was coming to see him. He inhales, and exhales: trying to make sense of everything, feeling his muscles get sorer the longer the seconds passed. He shifts again, blinking his eyes and then whining when he involuntarily moves his arms, letting the cuffs on his arms rattle against the harsh metal on the chair. He fucking hated to admit it, but the time wallowing down on him was scaring him to death: and there was nothing more he could do but whimper into the black sum  
of cloth he bit into.

“Oh jesus, how did this happen?”

The voice scared him in a mocking kind of way. He couldn’t see who it belonged to, but it spoke with such authority that it echoed around the whole room. Footsteps slowly made its way toward him, and as much as he tried to lift his head to see who this voice belonged to: but before he knew it, he was being hoisted back up. Well, the chair was being hoisted. And finally he was sitting back up again, but the figure was now standing behind him, it’s hands planted so firmly on his shoulders.

“Woah, not so quick,” The voice laughed when Salem head whipped back to try properly see whoever this person was, feeling their fingers hook under the cloth knotted tightly around his head, pulling it off so it hung around his neck.

“Sorry about that. I’ll talk to those two idiots later.”

Salem said nothing, only moving his jaw while letting out a bundle of sighs mixed with a bucket of curse words, and then finally the heavy authoritative footsteps wandered around him, and Salem was very surprised with the sight.

A very tall, young looking man. Hair looking neat and professionally done, clad in a very professional looking outfit too. A black blazer jacket and a half unbuttoned white shirt that was tucked into his pants, completed with an expensive belt. And, Salem would be lying if he said that the face matching the outfit.. wasn’t an attractive one too. In the blue lighting, he could only make out a few things. A chiseled jaw and handsome eyes that held a terrifying aura to them. The man behind all of this. The man who fucking snatched him from the side of the road.

“I bet you’re very confused right now.”

“You have no fucking clue.”

The man laughed, and Salem felt like kicking his legs more than ever.

His laughter dies down when he notices the broadening red mark settled underneath Salem’s eye, and he seems to take on a confused, realized, and angry expression at the same time. “They fuckin’ hit you?” He asks him, and Salem doesn’t answer him. Rightfully so. The man just sighs again, his thumb brushing over the bruising skin. An odd touch. His finger brushed so tenderly over his skin that it made Salem want to lean into it for a moment, but he didn’t: instead a scowl pulled over his face, and his first instinct was flinch. Which he did, turning his face away.

He only earned a laugh in return.

“They’ll be in big trouble for that,” The man hummed as he walked away, moving to rest his back against the wall to leave Salem in the middle of the room. “Believe in me, Ho dato loro severe istruzioni del cazzo,” He shifts to his native language naturally almost in an angry way: but he stops himself and turns his attention back onto Salem.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Another laugh.

“How old are you?”

“Fifty.”

He laughs again.

“You don’t sound American, more Canadian than anything else. You from there?” The man stuns him with that observation, and Salem’s mouth falls open to give a smart assed reply, but simply falters.

“Well, if you won’t tell me anything.. let me answer a few questions you’re probably asking in your head..” The man hums, tilting his head. Salem scoffs, he doesn’t want to know shit, but a part of him tells him that he’s slightly interested in the man: so he stays quiet, and lets him speak.

“My name is Adrian. Adrian Faccenna,” He pauses like that’s supposed to enlist a reaction out of him, it didn’t. The man he now knows as Adrian, smiles at him as if he’s realized something. Salem is staring at him blankly, trying to wait for the answer he was desperate for the most: why the fuck was he here?

“I’ve taken over from my father in running the five families in New York. The commission, we call it actually,” He approaches him again, getting closer with each word and making Salem’s blood run a little colder the more proximity was broken, and he swallows harshly when Adrian’s hands slam on the empty sides of the metal chair as if to trap him him even more when he’s finally close enough to lowly mumble.

“And you’re the little arson that’s burnt down three of my buildings.”


	3. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If my father were still around, you’d definitely be dead.”

Salem is too stunned to speak, the childish part of him summoning back as the words to say in return tried to balance on his tongue. He knew exactly what he was talking about, and holy shit: Salem was definitely guilty of it. There was no way he could talk himself out of this, the look they were sharing was too.. honest, to say the least. “What’s the matter darling? Cat got your tongue?” Adrian had laughter balancing off his tongue when he spoke, and it made the nerves in Salem’s body shake a little more: along with his annoyance bubble at being mocked like that. “You were saying more with that thing in your mouth than you are now,” He points out, and Salem laughs in his face. Forceful and obviously fake. 

 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

 

Adrian pulls away, humming eerily under his breath. Of course he knew that was bullshit, Salem forced it out like a teenager lying to a teacher. “I think you do,” He circles him again, his loud footsteps distracting Salem from every coherent thought he had. Fuck, he should’ve listened to Dom. Or Paloma. Or both of them. But he had no clue those buildings belonged to.. him. His spree got out of hand.. the thought of dying tonight was settling heavily in his head: this man was going to kill him. Adrian Faccenna, leader of the commission (whatever the fuck he meant by that, it sounded scary), was going to fucking kill him. 

 

“We’ve had a hard time finding you, kid.”

 

Salem managed to scoff through the fear dimming his senses. 

 

“Really, we did. You’re fast on your feet,”

He hums, coming around again to meet gazes, “We had every crooked cop on your ass looking for you. Not to mention those two goons out there.” Salem silently applauds himself for managing to stay out their grasp for so long, but he wants to punch himself for letting his guard down for one second. It’s what landed him here. He can’t take it anymore, so he blurts it out like a nervous child. 

 

“If you’re going to kill me-“

 

“Who said anything about that?”

 

“This whole ordeal! I’m tied to a chair for god sakes.” 

 

“Well that’s just for safety precautions. If you can set fire to three heavily guarded buildings, who knows what else you can do.” 

 

He can’t really do anything else, he thinks to himself. 

 

At the silence that follows their conversation, Adrian suddenly laughs again. A hearted one, it didn’t seem mocking, perhaps even genuine. It stuns Salem as he stares doe eyed at him, like a deer caught in headlights: and he swallows harshly on his throat while confusion fills him further. 

 

“If my father were still around, you’d definitely be dead.”

 

The words make him want to double over and die, but Adrian carries on. 

 

“Things have changed since that old man’s death. I don’t.. believe in that stuff.. right away,” Salem watches Adrian fiddle with his cuff links: correcting them and smudging some blood across the pristine pure white. “I should kill you, well, that’s what everyone else thinks I should do. But you didn’t know who I was, did you? You didn’t know who those buildings belonged to,” Adrian makes eye contact again, natural interest filling the brim of his gaze: and rightfully so, he takes Salem’s silence as a yes. 

 

“I have one question I need you to answer,” Adrian’s voice goes lower, like it was threatening him. Salem’s blood runs cold again as he tries to sink into the chair like it’d soften the harshness of Adrian’s gaze. He gets closer and closer until the words are close enough to overwhelm him, “Why did you burn down those buildings, darling?” 

 

Salem plans on not answering, simply staring at him as his chair rocks back and forth. He has no casual words balancing off his tongue, only smart assed comments and perhaps: he even thought of spitting at him. But the intensity and hotness fanning off of the man in front of him made his brain turn to mush, no matter how much he wanted to kick his legs out, or knock his head forward to head-but him. The way Adrian stared at him made him want to answer truthfully, so he did.

 

“Because I wanted to.” 

 

And then Adrian smiled. A satisfied kind of smile. Warm and seemed oddly proud, the deep emeralds of his irises that Salem seemed to only take in now fell over his blank, scared expression, and the more silence fell between the both of them, the more Salem felt his gaze weaken to admire the murderous looking man up close, until abruptly Adrian pulled away: and reality hit him like cold air. He felt fucking dizzy. 

 

“I have a proposition for you,” Adrian begins, back turned toward him eerily as if he was leaving. Salem’s eyes were glued to him, clenching his fists through the cuffs and sucking in a breath: not at all prepared to hear what was coming next.

 

“I’d like you to work for us. As a soldier.”

 

“A soldier?” Salem laughed, he wasn’t sure why but in the circumstances it sent him briefly. He wasn’t able to see, but he earned a small meek smile from Adrian in front of him too.

 

“Yes, a soldier. The grunts. Dirty work.”

 

“I won’t do your fucking dirty work.”

 

“Oh?”

 

His voice ran cold, and so did Salem’s face: watching Adrian peer at him over his shoulder.

 

“I still don’t know your name,” Adrian concluded after a bit of silence, as if he was purposely letting the tied up boy stem in it frighteningly. But Salem figured after all they’ve conversed about by now, he should tell him. He swallowed down and let it out quietly as his eyes diverted down to his lap. “Salem,” he mumbled. 

 

“What was that?” Adrian hums with a hint of mischief falling over his words, turning back to face him while taking a few closer steps toward him. 

 

“It’s Salem,” He said a little annoyedly.

 

“Pretty name, for a pretty boy,” Adrian says casually, and Salem hardly noticed that he was back in his proximity again until he looked up, the man in front of him looking very determined and professional all of a sudden, like he purposely diverted away from his playful approach. Now he really seemed like a boss, like those two pricks before referred him as. “Well, Salem,” He drawls out his name like honey while his hand reaches out to touch his face. For a second he thinks that he was about to run his fingers along the bruise again, but before he knows it: his forefinger and thumb is grabbing his chin to lift his gaze back up. Salem whines a little, huffing at the random roughness that shouldn’t of made his head twirl like it did. 

 

“You did after all, burn down my buildings.. I could kill you. Y’know,” His voice drops down to a threat. 

 

“But you won’t,” Salem counters back surprisingly. It hardly enlists a reaction from him, but they seem to be caught in a trance: and again, very abruptly, Adrian moves away from him, and Salem nearly sighs out at the loss of contact (the only he’s properly had in hours) but manages to keep himself quiet as Adrian moves behind him again. 

 

“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” Salem breathes out in a falsified relief, thinking that maybe Adrian was going to take the metal cuffs off him. But he didn’t, in fact, he just tugged on them to check if they were still properly in tact. “What are you doing? You can’t keep me here!” Salem protests, pulling on the metal violently. “Don’t get hysterical, I need to for now. You’ll be back to your little cardboard box later,” Adrian laughs, and Salem feels his annoyance bubble over the top. A frustrated kind of annoyance that made his head hurt. “Atleast undo the ties, please?” He utters the plea so sweetly that Adrian almost listens to him. Almost.

 

“Nice try. But don’t worry, next time I won’thave to tie you up unless you ask nicely,” Adrian mumbles lowly that it’s almost uttered against Salem’s ear: it made his head dance around like he was fucking with him, distracting him from the fact that Adrian’s fingers were hooking back around the black material cloth. “You’re- Mpppppffh!” Salem’s smart assed comment is cut short by a confused whimper when Adrian pulls the cloth around his lips tightly, and another frustrated but oddly soft grunt muffles against the material when it’s knotted tighter behind his head. 

 

“Sorry darling, can’t have you being too loud still. Although the whining is quite nice,” The comment makes Salem stomp his foot, even though he felt his cheeks redden with annoyance and perhaps blush. 

 

He feels Adrian lean in for the last time from behind his chair, the man’s fingers brushing away the messy raven curls that had fallen over Salem’s face from the ordeal. It was such a gentle gesture, so much Salem wanted to cry: sour, confused tears slowly started to wound in his eyes. “Shh,” He hears him hum, his voice wilding him up and calming him at the same time, blinking away any of the water that dared to fall down his cheeks when Adrian’s breath heated against his ear to mumble one last thing, “Don’t forget to think about it.”


	4. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He didn’t say that,” He mumbles.
> 
> “A Faccenna doesn’t have to, S.”

Jingling with the back porch door, Salem cursed to himself when it wouldn’t completely open. The chain lock was probably intact, goddamn it. Well he couldn’t really blame Paloma, not only was it 2 am (he’d been thrown out of a fucking van in the same spot they’d taken him from after being chloroformed for a second time) but the security in this area was awful. Dom and Paloma were nuts about that. 

 

Well, at least the window wasn’t locked.

 

“Fuck!” Salem groaned in pain when his body hit the tiled kitchen floor of Paloma’s kitchen, his legs still hanging out the window when he turned onto his stomach. Crawling back onto his feet, he rubbed his head and sighed. It’s been a rough fucking day.

 

When he stands, he spots a figure on the couch in the darkness. A familiar figure, his chest heaving up and down and slightly snoring as he twisted and turned to get comfortable on the rough cushions. He nearly cries in relief at the sight of his friend, Audrey: and he almost stumbles rushing over to him, which he does, falling down luckily on the carpet and waking up Audrey in the process. “Wha- WHAT!?” He hears him yell, and Salem springs quickly to shush him: the palm of his hand clamping over his mouth as he leans over the couch. “Shut up shut up shut up!” He whisper yells, not wanting to wake Paloma up at this time of night: but he was in a fucking situation, and he didn’t know what to do.

 

“Get the fuck off,” Audrey huffs, shaking Salem’s hand from his mouth before sitting up, managing to make out the distressed features on Salem’s face: in which his turned to full concern. 

 

“Where the fuck have you been all day S?”

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“What’s a long story?” The lightbulb flickers on, and the two boys yell out in fright at the sudden voice on the stairs, standing high and mighty with her arms folded across her chest: amusement definitely not evident on her expression as she stared down at them. “Hey there Paloma,” They both coo in unison, so sweet and dragged out, and she scoffs in return as she stomps down the stairs in her pajama’s. She’d obviously just woken up, probably from Audrey’s yell when Salem had fallen. 

 

“Don’t hey Paloma me. I have work in the morning!” 

 

“Sorry,” They say in unison again, succumbing to a silence as they both stand up. Paloma sighs and then aims her tired, mildly agitated but also slightly worried gaze on Salem. “I keep forgetting to lock that goddamn window,” She huffs, stepping toward him when she notices the blue mark beneath his eye. She just made it out to be a bruise, and instantaneously she reached out to brush her fingers along it gently. Unlike Adrian’s fingers, hers were examining it in a maternal way, eyes flickering over it like she already knew. Well, what she assumed, “I can’t believe I run a homeless kid safe haven.”

 

“Technically we’re the only two homeless kids to come here,” Audrey pipes in as he moves to ransack the fridge for milk, and she laughs. “Three, actually,” She responds, and a new tired voice from the stairs intrudes in the conversation. “I’m not homeless anymore, sweetheart,” Dominika gruels in(she’d emphasized on sweetheart in a loud hum), her quiet footsteps making it easy for her to slip into the living room: they wouldn’t of even noticed she was there if she hadn’t said anything. She sits in the arm chair near the small television, and aims a questionable look at her girlfriend and Salem: her brain had just woken up, she had no clue what was going on.

 

“Now spill, kid. What’s the long story?”

 

“I’m gonna need some booze first.”

 

“Salem, it’s two fucking am.” 

 

“Please P..” 

 

So they sat around the living room. Audrey, after hearing Salem ask for alcohol, had taken it upon himself to snag a bottle of tequila from the cupboard. They shared it between the two of them only after Paloma and Dom loudly declined, they both had to work in the morning so they just listened. Salem rambled at first, words a mess as he tried to get everything out. When he brought up the buildings, Paloma sighed and Dom mumbled a classic ‘I told you so’, but he hadn’t mentioned Adrian yet. Just the ordeal that had led him to trussed up in an unknown building by strangers.

 

“You should’ve listened to us,” Dom hums as she beckons her hand over to Audrey to ask for the bottle, deciding she’d have one sip. 

 

“Oh jeez, I had no clue. Thanks,” Salem slurs a little, swallowing as he leans his head back against the couch. “I think I’m in trouble with the Mafia,” Salem blurts outtoward the ceiling. Dom chokes, Paloma pulls a face, and Audrey laughs. But Salem’s silence tells them that maybe he isn’t joking, so he carries on mindlessly. 

 

“This scary looking guy came in.. and he- He said his name was Adrian.”

 

This doesn’t get as much attention, just curt nods as they listen.

 

“Adrian Faccenna.”

 

Paloma snaps her gaze up to him, and she seems shocked by the word that left his mouth.

 

“Faccenna?” She asks almost in disbelief.

 

“That’s what I said P,” Salem hums before sipping on the bottle he’d taken from Dom.Without any warning, he feels the bottle being pulled away from him: and he immediately whines out. 

 

“That’s enough of that. What the fuck did you do Salem?” 

 

Salem just looks up at her, drunken unspoken words balancing on his tongue. He has no clue what to tell her. Sober him would’ve just brushed it off. Lied. Everything is fine, don’t worry. It was a misunderstanding. But he was half drunk and fearful, so after a few seconds of silence (Dom and Audrey had both learnt into the conversation by now, listening intently) he finally found the simplistic words to utter. 

 

“Those buildings were his.. I- Uh. I burnt down three of them.”

 

“Three!?” They all yell in unison, and he sinks into himself. 

 

Paloma’s face drops even further than it has before, and soon she’s wedging herself between Audrey and Salem, her palms planted on his cheeks in the softest way he could. “You’re an idiot,” She contrasts, and the others snicker a little bit while Salem sighs. He knows that now. He knew that as soon as Adrian had told him to think about about. Sleep on it. Let it envelope all other thoughts he’s had today until all he thought about was him. 

 

Faccenna, Facenna, Faccenna.

 

The name tasted too sweet to be attached to such a sour memory. 

 

Fuck him.

 

“Did he give this to you?” Paloma refers to the bruise, and he immediately shakes his head: his face turning to a scowl after those two morons come to mind again. “I was giving this guy lip and he-,” He cuts himself off to nervously mimic a punching action with his other hand, and Paloma tsks under her breath. “Fuck, Salem,” She utters, “You do know who this man is right? His family? The organization?” 

 

“Well I do now!”

 

“I don’t think you do, dumbass. He’s the leader of the Italian mafia!” 

 

Dom and Audrey seem to shift in movement, their actions now matching the worry that Paloma displayed so fluently. Dom struggled a bit, but Audrey sank into it soon enough.

 

“Wow, dumbass is right,” He repeats in a whisper, voice exasperated: “What happened next?”

 

A lot of eye contact, Salem wants to say. He called me darling and I didn’t object. He told me his father was dead. He offered me a job. Fuck, that’s right. 

 

“He offered me a job,” He says casually, alcohol consuming the proper irregularity in his voice. They look at him like they’ve seen a ghost, and he shifts his eyes between the three of them as if to say, “What?” 

 

“Well? What did you say?” Audrey’s gotten to his feet at this point, arms folded across his chest. 

 

“I said I wouldn’t do his fucking dirty work,” Salem spat bluntly, the memory stinging him with brief anger. The three of them stare, Paloma looks scared, Audrey is so concerned, and Dom is very confused. 

 

Paloma stands up to join Audrey, “And.. what did he say back?”

 

“Sleep on it. Which is what I won’t be doing, because I won’t lift a finger for anything to do with him.”

 

“You do realize how deep you really are in this nonsense? Do you? You burnt down three of his buildings, His. His family’s.” 

 

“He’s asking you to pay the debt in working,” Audrey pipes in, and Salem scoffs.

 

“He didn’t say that,” He mumbles.

 

“A Faccenna doesn’t have to, S.” 

 

That stuns Salem a little bit. He hadn’t realized he’d been fiddling with the threads of his t-shirt until he had a clump of little black strings piled up in his hand. He could hear the three of them talking, but he’d zoned them out. All their voices had been become blurs as his thoughts went rampant in his head: features turning as his drunken mind managed to process faster than his sober head could at all. He’d gotten himself in this mess. He’d rampaged and decided to set fire to those buildings. 

 

He was a fucking idiot, and what Adrian offered him was the consequences of that idiocy. Either that, or maybe Adrian would kill him.


	5. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m barely even touching you, and look at you.”

Face flushed and head leaning deliberately into the pillow behind him, knotting his legs around the tall figure that hovered over him so well to pull him closer than he was out of sheer need and spite to be touched more: bare skin and all heating to a temperature that couldn’t be healthy, letting Adrian’s warm hands wander up and down the softness of his body. An action surprisingly timid. The fear of any intimacy that wasn’t his finger dips digging into his sides to pull him into his lap was so quickly distracted by his mouth: which sounded sweet shaky moans and whimpers as it grazed and abused his neck, marking it fresh and for the world to see.

 

An authoritative voice calling him darling, mumbling dirty sweet nothings to him as blunt nails ran down the valley of his thighs: which he so easily opened for him, like he was desperate for friction. He was so fucking desperate, whining out for anything as Adrian’s warm lips had met the inside of his thighs. His mouth hungover at the sensation, sucking in a breath when a finger brushed along his bottom lip: further parting his lips until they were wrapped around his thumb, his panting muffled when he took took his fingers in his mouth: moaning against them when he felt a hand finally press between his legs. 

 

Moving his hips, the rough calluses of Adrian’s hands were wrapped around him: making Salem’s eyes roll back as he exhaled, a hand moving to run through the his neatly combed hair: only to have it pressed back down into the mattress by his, wrist pinned down besides his head in an intentional dominating manner that sent Salem’s head over the bend like he’d wanted that to happen. To be held down by him. 

 

Through loose and purposely lazy strokes, and almost at the brink of an orgasm: Adrian pulled away and met his eyes. “-No no,” Salem whined at the loss of contact, a whimper sauntering from his mouth as the man above him seemed to chuckle and revel in the desperate state he found himself in. In between the thin line of want and need. Wanting Adrian to touch him. Needing Adrian to touch him. And just him.

 

“Shh,” He shushes him in a tutting way, feeling his fingertips dance along the crevice of his jaw, drawing out a prolonged shaky sigh which made Adrian smile as his fingers danced further down his sides, his thighs, until they were falling behind him and slowly lifting his leg until is was hanging over his shoulder. “I’m barely even touching you, and look at you,” His voice is breathy and teasing: taking in the relieved but flushed out expression on Salem’s face when Adrian’s fingers started to prod at his entrance. One finger entering him already making his eyes flutter collectively, taking him in like his body was shaped for it. 

 

Then a second finger, knuckles deep and making him moan out loudly. Three fingers, bordering on the line of roughly and gentle until Salem was a crumbling mess beneath him, and he swore just before he sprung awake: their fingers were intertwined for barely a noticeable time.

 

Salem was sweating. Well, that was what it felt like. Bordering on the line of hot and cold: overheating and freezing at the same time. He’d blinked cluelessly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of Paloma’s living room, noting Audrey sleeping on the couch and him not about to fucked by Adrian Facenna, which made him sigh out. He didn’t know if it was in relief or disappointment, but it was still a sigh of something. He swiped his hand across his forehead, sucking in a breath. He felt so tense that it was consuming every thought he had as he moved to sit against the wall. 

 

It’s not even been a complete day, and he’s sufficed to unconscious thoughts that he barely knew he had.

 

This never happened, he told himself. No one knows this but me so it never fucking happened, but what am I going to do about the fact _that my dick is-_

 

Salem turns his head when he hears a small snore by the couch. Audrey shifts in his spot, tossing and turning to get comfortable. His stress radiates until he’s holding his head and mumbling to himself, legs moving to tug and hold tightly to his chest: hoping that’d restrain him a little

bit. It helped, but barely: shaking his head at disbelief at himself as new thoughts took over the guilty dirty ones that scarred his head. 

 

He had to think about this sometime. With an ultimatum that was hard to balance and very hard to refuse if he cared about his own well being.. he sat there blinking cluelessly. 

 

Then he decided impulsively.. that he wouldn’t think about that. That he’d lay down and just sleep, which is what he did, hand tucked behind his head and his eyes at first blinking at the ceiling as he tried to to get rid of the image of emerald eyes gazing intently at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter of salem being a Secret whore for our man mr faccenna

**Author's Note:**

> I already have some of this written in my notes, perhaps I am excited!


End file.
